


Straight Flush

by kazosah



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Everyone wants Bucky, Everyone wants Captain America, Happy Ending, Hooker AU, Hooker!Bucky, Kissing, M/M, Poker, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Steve's got a beard, Unhappy Bucky, gangleader!Steve, punk!bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 14:31:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1691684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazosah/pseuds/kazosah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He first came up with the poker games to set the standards for the johns as a joke, but the more often he offered the game beforehand, the mysterious allure attached to it surprisingly seemed to wrangle in more men prepared to empty their wallets for a single night with him... But this night - this one when he felt his life was ultimately inconsequential - was one he would've never anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Straight Flush

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, any mistakes I've made are my own. Also I'd like to note that I have no disrespect for the sex working industry - I believe everyone's entitled to do what they like with their lives, whatever it is, it's their choice.  
> Also I don't know why Steve has a beard but he does... probably because I was inspired by [hypnotic gorgeous bearded goodness](http://31.media.tumblr.com/29277ef26596a7b3c5eefbd41bed5c16/tumblr_n2cdwpaNju1qahlvzo3_r1_250.gif) and also [just wow inspiration](https://31.media.tumblr.com/0d5725b2427c5a6d7bfe6cb1c0471e88/tumblr_n668bz9Xhj1r00ixgo1_500.jpg). But really it all started with [this](https://24.media.tumblr.com/9802bcb5ef1881559315a0b9a8d0b924/tumblr_n66xm6kw941r00ixgo1_400.jpg).  
> This originally started as 900 word text to one of my long suffering friends and then somehow it expanded into this. Also I have little to no knowledge of poker aside from what I quickly researched to make this sound plausible, aww sweet fiction, like accuracy really matters...   
> And I'm not actually sure when this is taking place, modern or 30's, even with the references to certain stars... I think it could be read as either... maybe (WOW, I am a GREAT writer).

* * *

 

Bucky plays high stakes poker. The big payoff? A night with him. Against who? Potential Johns. It's a strange sort of arrangement he's got his life situated into; but so far he's still alive, so he supposes it could always be worse, not matter how tired he's become. He likes the attention, being desired, but it isn't exactly what he'd had in mind when he was younger. He'd always wanted to be a star; to be up there on the silver screen with gorgeous Rita Hayworth; dates with risque Mae West and/or dreamy Gary Cooper. Schmooze with the hottest stars and producers. But he couldn't afford the costs of schooling, and he wasn't and would never be in the right place at the right time to be discovered. So he resorted to doing what he was best at. Cards and sex.

  
He first came up with the poker games to set the standards for the johns as a joke, but the more often he offered the game beforehand, the more the mysterious allure attached to the trick surprisingly wrangled in more men prepared to empty their wallets for a single night with him. It was an odd trick, but it worked; he was the most sought after hooker in all of Brooklyn, even hauled in a few coppers to get the heat of his 'street corner' -- a vacant building - bar with apartments above - that had been condemned back in WWI (Bucky made do with whatever he could get since leaving the care of the orphanage).

  
Rules were simple. House (Bucky) wins - he picks the John, picks their activities the duration of the night. John wins, he gets to use his chip winnings to buy certain favors from Bucky for the night.

  
He's been at this since he was sixteen years old, but this night... This night he was particularly tired. The entire week had been one of those weird ones where he woke up every day with stained sheets that needed washing, a dresser with money, a tip, and the chips on it; the light of day streaming brightly through his window and he'd flop back down to stare at the ceiling as the scent of stale sex scented around him while he wondered - _Is this it? Is this all there is for me? Is this my life?_ He couldn't very well shut down shop, as this was his only source of income and he was doing well for himself. Sure, he had experience and other skills to offer not solely of the sexual nature but how would he explain an eight year lull in his resume? Unless he filled in the blank with blatant honesty - _I suck a cock like you_ would not _**believe**_ \- and offer zero references because no man ever offered his real name, no smart man who'd had the mind to take off his wedding ring before Bucky started dealing the cards at least.

  
But this night - this one when he was terribly tired - was one he would've never anticipated.

  
Most johns weren't of any notability; family men, curious men, occasionally sick men that Bucky did well in shoving their money back into their hands before tossing them out onto the curb with an additional kick to the ass. This night brought in faces of distinction. Bucky's three seats were open, men cluttering the bar, chattering loudly amongst themselves about who had enough cash to pay the hooker even after buying chips for the game. Bucky was shuffling the cards, idly entertaining the idea of trying Blind Man's Bluff, a cigarette bobbing between his lips as he cut the deck a final time, muttering, "C'mon, no takers? I don't bite... much."

  
He started dealing out to the vacant chairs, still murmuring little taunts that usually drew in the foolish johns who took the bait, and it seemed to work when the roar of the crowd dulled and two chairs scraped against the floor and two men settled down. Bucky's eyes flickered up briefly, but then shot up again, rounded in awe, jaw slackened and his cig threatened to drop and extinguish into his tumbler of whiskey in front of him.

  
Howard Stark was seated to his left, nursing a bourbon on the rocks and shot him a quick wink. Bucky would've never thought he'd ever meet, much less play cards - the ultimate prize being his willing body - with the genius billionaire inventor. But here he was, Bucky's sort-of-speakeasy of an extremely anti-moral establishment. Truth be told though, it was Howard's companion that really had Bucky gaping.

  
Opposite of Bucky sat Steve Rogers - notorious do-gooder gang leader of Brooklyn. He had a reputation of being a bit of a freedom fighter vigilante. Essentially, he was a really good guy that did really good things for the best of reasons but just lacked the authority to take matters into his own hands they way he did. Stints and break outs from jail, a novel of offenses, all for the greater good of America; there was no way he could redeem himself in the eyes of the law, too far gone to atone and align himself with the police. In alley ways and on dumpsters one could find Rogers' gang sign carefully or crudely spray painted red, white, and blue, like a target, stripes of red and white with a circle of blue and a white star in the center. Even in the windows of homes and places of business a calling card sized cleaner rendition of the sign was displayed as a kind of warning, they had Steve Rogers protection and weren't to be messed with.

  
Bucky had serviced members of various gangs now and again. But Steve Rogers...? Again, he never would have foreseen the night unfolding in such a way, the men he was dealing cards to, one of which he would be entertaining for the night. He remembered the cigarette between his lips and clamped them shut, taking in a hasty pull before he stubbed it out in the ashtray, keeping his gaze down as his cheeks flushed after meeting Steve's friendly grin.

  
A final player settled down in the last chair - a hopeful schmuck basically seated among New York royalty. And the game began.

  
Bucky had never felt so conflicted about whether he wanted to win or if he wanted Stev - a john to win. The things he wanted to do to the man straight across from him... But then his toes curled in his boots wondering what Rogers would want to do... Steve was more often referred by his gang created leader name - Captain America - and Bucky wondered if it would be proper and appreciated or sick and weird to call him Captain in bed. But those were all just hopeful distracting thoughts as everyone picked up their cards and clockwise the ante was upped, chips flying into the pot. He's distracted again when he ponders how powerful he would feel to have NYPD's most wanted at his feet, perched on his knees, and waiting for instruction. Sinfully pink lips, probably so soft in comparison to the coarse beard that surround them. How pliant? How skilled? How perfect would they feel wrapped around -

  
He's yanked from his fantasy when the normal-hopeful-john folds after Stark sighs and presses his cards face down onto the table, so it's just Bucky and Steve.

  
Bucky's got a full house, he's sure he's got this, so sure he'll have Captain America on his knees and begging for him within the next five minutes. He displays his hand, a triumphant little smirk on his mouth. And Steve, the absurd resistance bastard, has the gall to look impressed as he lets out a low whistle before displaying his straight flush.

  
Bucky's grin falters only for a moment, pulse accelerated and smirk stretching wider when Stark crows delightedly over the renewed din of the crowd, "Cap wins!" And Bucky can't help but feel like somehow the moderately mad scientist had a hand in said winning. But he doesn't pay it any mind as he stands and circles the table, offering a hand out to Steve - a win is a win, after all. And the mercenary of American independence, with bright blue eyes screaming of false innocence gazing up at him, places his hand into Bucky's, rises to stand and totally disregards the chips on the table, eyes firmly stuck on Bucky like he knows he doesn't need fake tender to ensure Bucky's compliance toward his requests, like he always knew he was going to win the moment he got the idea of visiting Bucky's den.

  
With Bucky's caller for the night surfacing triumphant among the crowd, he closes up shop. And Stark, the obnoxiously charismatic genius lends his help; herding the grumbling johns out with ushering hands and words of, "Go on! You don't have to go home but you can't stay here!" And as the final man out the door, Stark turns and shoots a wink at them, but to which of them it was intended for Bucky's not sure. His condemned building used for a number of illegal pursuits and meaningless intimacy was empty, locked up, dark, and quiet, though the latter wouldn't be for much longer.

  
The word was Steve used to be a shrimpy kid, short and bony, but still a looker in the face and just as adamant about his beliefs in justice - then his growth spurts hit like a government funded instant-super soldier project, and suddenly beefcake; Bucky wondered if the other rumor that went along with that story was true - if his body had finally caught up with his dick, he was anxious to find out, hands nearly grabbing for the tiny trim waist as he let Steve lead the way up the stairs to his living quarters, but he refrained, that would be unprofessional, and Bucky prided himself in his professionalism... whenever those scarce occurrences occurred. But he couldn't dampen the excitement burning hot and spreading like wild fire in his belly as the situation hits him all over again, he's being guided by the hand by Steve - Steve Rogers - _Captain America_ \- to his room.

  
Steve released Bucky's hand as he turned to the shut the door after them, for whatever reason, it seemed an irrelevant act, but it didn't matter to Bucky; his excitement nearly won out as his eyes raked over and took in the entire form of Steve and settled unashamedly on - _Mother of God! Let's hear it for Captain America!_ \- that ass. Bucky schooled his features into something more collected and sultry when Steve turned and leaned his back against the closed door. That sultry look fading only slightly to give way to a bit of confusion when Steve said, "I have a proposition for you."

  
" _Yeah_ ," Bucky laughed, and pointed between the two of them - hooker and john, "That's basically how these things go..."

  
Steve grinned, "No, I mean," and looked to his feet for a brief moment, as if collecting himself before glancing back to Bucky, "I've been making my way through all of Brooklyn. Scouring the corners for those turning tricks. I've helped those who needed out of their old song and dance; money, protection, or out completely to have a place among my team."

  
"Among your team? You mean, Captain America and your Howling Commandos?" Bucky asked, trying to make sense and conversation as apparently that's how Steve wanted to play it; Bucky was on a slow approach toward him, somehow the display of righteousness lighting up a fresh burning desire within his heart like a struck match.

  
Steve agreed, "Right." And - for fuck's sake - looking, for all his life was, for all the things he'd done, actually nervous as Bucky slowly stalked toward him.

  
"Huh," Bucky hummed in thought, biting his bottom lip and watching Steve's eyes home in on the motion; he swiped his tongue against the bitten flesh, blooming enticingly shiny and red, seeing Steve's eyes never falter, but his chest stutter for breath. "Papes don't call you a team, they're more attached to the word terrorists."

  
"R-Regardless," Steve blinked rapidly, clearing his throat, steadying his resolve to meet Bucky's eyes again, "I'm here to offer you my protection, should you need it."

  
Bucky tipped his head back and laughed, just a scant foot between him and Steve, "Are you offering to _rescue_ me, Captain America?"

  
When Bucky looked back he was startled to see a tinge of concern pinching between Steve's brows as he answered with a slow shake of his head, "I never said rescue."

  
Bucky swallowed thickly against the sudden realization and reflection of his choice of word, subconsciously he did want to be rescued, subconsciously he was sure he was done with this way of life and wanted out, wanted a new one. Working for Steve Rogers, in a gang of soldiers of fortune, though? He sighed, shaking the thoughts from clouding up his head and planted his hands solidly against the wall on either side of Steve's head, caging him in, "How 'bout I think about it while you ravage me..." This was the point after all, Steve had won, and Bucky was still very interested in how this would play out, even though this all had seemed just an elaborate scheme to ask if Bucky was okay and needed help.

  
"I generally don't ravage. And don't usually introduce anyone's back to a mattress until after a couple of dates," Steve said, a slight tremble in his voice but a prideful grin in place as he glanced down into Bucky's determined gaze.

  
"Dear god, you really are a model citizen," Bucky mumbled, then shrugged a shoulder, "Technically a criminal freedom fighter, but a good boy model citizen nonetheless." He pushed away from the wall, reluctantly putting some distance back between him and Steve, "Well... If fucking's off the menu what would you like to do? You know how I run this; you won, so I'm completely at your disposal."

  
Steve breathed out a chuckle, glancing down to his feet and this time it failing to collect himself as a blush began to brightly color his cheeks, "I, uh," he looked back up and Bucky could've swooned at seeing such a commendable, feared and praised, honorable character looking so bashful before him. Steve caught the corner of his lip between his teeth, gnawing gently in thought, "I wasn't planning on - you know - anything, besides putting my offer out there, but, uhh..." He laughed again, a cough of a chuckle seasoned with nerves. "You can't laugh, but I'd just like to... to kiss you for a while," he finally glanced up again, face flushed, crooked unsure grin on his mouth. "If that's alright. I mean -!" he mended hurriedly, a hand shooting out from where both had been poised behind him back with a placating gesture, "Usually I take a date for drinks and dancing - I'm a _terrible_ dancer, but I try, and if they're amused and laugh at my attempts and I don't crush their feet, I'd say it's a successful date - before a goodnight kiss comes into question, but..."

  
Bucky's eyes were drawn immediately to Steve's lips upon the sound of the word 'kiss'. Most of the time men were understandably requesting _his_ devilish mouth but never for kissing; his heart swelled painfully at Steve's truehearted innocence, as his plush pink lips curled into a sheepish smile, lips that probably felt like ecstasy - no, something more virtuous, felt like heaven and tasted like sugar, soft and sweet. Like kissing a saint would absolve him of all his sins, his thoughts wagered. There was only one way to find out if his assumptions were true, and if he wasn't gawking like a fool for the last few moments he would've found out sooner. His eyes shot back and forth between Captain America's eyes and lips as he nodded dumbly and sputtered out, "Kissing. Yeah - yes. Kissing is..." His gaze was stuck on his mouth again, his tongue unconsciously wetting his own lips in anticipation with a darting stroke of tongue, "Is fine. Great."

  
It felt like high school all over again. Seated side by side at the end of Bucky's bed that had likely seen just about the same amount of action as a battlefront. For a minute Steve just looked at him - more like studied him like he was a piece of art, it was gratifying and unnerving, and Bucky was glad to be spared from his scrutiny any longer when the blond surged forward and clumsily tried to slot their lips together in a perfectly chaste kiss. Dry and off center, Steve had mostly pressed his mouth against Bucky's bottom lip and chin in his shaky haste, and though Bucky hadn't actually promised not to laugh, he resisted against the chuckle building up in his throat at the virginal attempt from a renowned gang leader and raised his hands to take Steve's strong whiskered jaw in a gentle guiding hold.

  
Bucky figured slow was the best pace to go with, taking his time and confirming his suspicions when he captured Steve's lips in a proper kiss; his lips, void of any lingering food or drink, tasted like sugar, and his facial hair was far softer than coarse under hand and rubbing against his upper lip and chin than he had assumed. He'd likely have a roaring case of beard burn after this, but it was worth it, and he'd endure it forevermore if only he could feel the delicate press and sweet taste of Steve's mouth. His original plan to go slow crumbled nearly the instant after he thought of it, the instant he properly had Steve's mouth, he leaned back to collect the breath that was stolen from him and came back with a new vigor, his tongue sweeping along Steve's bottom lip, wondering just how far that nectarous flavor went.

  
But Steve didn't open up immediately to Bucky's request, mildly distracted by cautious hands confused as to where to settle - leg, or waist, or shoulder, or hair? Hair was probably a safe bet, he desperately wanted to comb his fingers through anyway, wondering if it was as soft as it looked. Torso angled uncomfortably toward the right, toward Bucky, his right hand shot out to splay palm down beside him on the bed as a means of support, the other hesitantly raised and remained awkwardly mid-air at head level beside them until Bucky licked his wicked tongue across his lip again. His fingers dove in and carded through incredibly silky brown strands; his mouth parted with a sigh when the brunet tilted his head into the caress, and then gasped when Bucky's tongue met his own.

  
The source of Steve Rogers' candied sweetness, Bucky stroked and circled his tongue against the slippery, shy muscle, but just couldn't get enough until he caught it between his lips in a light suction, causing both of them to release breathless languid little moans. Bucky fought hard against the urge to switch up his place, swing his leg over to straddle Steve, because Steve had only said kissing, and he wouldn't urge anything else unless it was by Steve's say... but damn it, it was hard, in both the sense of difficulties and the stirrings concealed in his jeans, pressing more and more ardently against his fly as the minutes passed.

  
Steve had a blundering start, but as he found his footing, so to speak, he was far surer and bolder in his endeavors. His left hand that had lazy brushed through Bucky's hair trailed down his neck to cradle to back of his skull, then in a sudden burst of bravery he purposefully angled his partner's head, scooting close enough so their jean clad thighs were touching, and took advantage of their slight height difference, trying out a dominant approach - more to see how Bucky reacted than for his own preference (he normally enjoyed a balance of power - in all contexts). Bucky just went with it with learned ease, bending to his will or so it seemed when Steve found himself sliding his bracing hand further up the bed as Bucky eased them to recline along the bed, still side by side. He arranged his forearm beneath Bucky's head, keeping himself still halfway leaned over Bucky's form, but never parting from Bucky's hungry mouth.

  
Bucky's hands abandoned their place under Steve's jaw the moment he began to ease them into a more comfortable horizontal position, reaching out instead to clutch at muscled chest and shoulders beneath cotton fabric. With most johns he'd managed a trick, a thought to get himself hard and come even when he was completely uninterested, but there was definitely no need for the trick. He was desperate to have Captain America, for Steve Rogers to have him. To rip off every piece of clothing discouraging him from worshipping every inch of golden skin that covered that godlike physique. It was a common contradiction - a person with a fantastic body rarely had a personality to match. But Steve contradicted that contradiction, and Bucky had a suspicion that if he had been lucky enough to befriend pre-pubescent skinny Steve he'd have still been head over heels for the benevolent guy. Kissing was the agreement, but Bucky was getting closer and closer to saying sucks to the agreement as breath panted heavily through noses and short breaks between kisses to gasp a sharp inhales. His hands were balled up in Steve's shirt as he threw a leg over thigh in an effort to draw him closer, to entice him with just an _accidental_ graze of hardness against hardness.

  
Steve's left hand lifted away from Bucky's hair and grasped at his waist, stopping the motion of closing anymore distance between their bodies after Bucky's leg hooked over his. This was nice, this was good what they were doing right now; actually it was more than good, it was addicting and strange. He hadn't intended to use Bucky at all for his services, but the second his eyes saw through the haze of smoke and landed on the man seated with his back to the wall, cigarette between his smirking lips and shuffling cards among a rowdy crowd of optimistic, horny, red-faced men sifting through stacks of bills and clinking glasses of liquor, he could understand why anyone would be so enthralled and eager for his company. Bucky looked like a devil but he kissed like an angel. A perfect opposition; he was careful and kind with his sinful intentions. Steve probably felt like any other joe schmo who'd won Bucky's company, felt like he could get used to this, felt like he didn't want this to ever end. But he felt it more in the sense that he could make this last, he could and would make the effort to create a sustainable relationship if it were possible... but he remembered this was business. That's all it was. Steve had extended an offer. Bucky's professional services were being carried out. Business - with an impulsive, accidental hint of pleasure. His grip briefly tightened against his waist as he surmised that if this was to be a one time thing, he would sure as hell make the most of it, and let his innocuous fantasy play out from his mind that they had had a long day, hadn't had a moment alone together in weeks, but were far too tired to do anything more than leisurely kiss atop the covers of their bed. He did well to ignore the short rolling of Bucky's hips, glad they weren't close enough to make contact with him, lest his innocent dream be destroyed, unable to hold himself back and prove he was entirely capable of ravaging Bucky. He trailed his hand from Bucky's waist along his ribs and up his arm until he settled against the soft skin of his unblemished neck, rubbing gentle circles from behind his ear and slowly downward. He echoed Bucky's pleased moan, muffled between their mouths.

  
Bucky's brow scrunched, feeling sweat spring from his temples and beneath the collar of his shirt, a familiar tightness in his gut, a sensation of accelerated ascension, mounting pleasure he faked and forced more often than not. But it couldn't be possible, he thought as he tore his mouth away from Steve's to suck in a ragged gasp of breath, a shameless moan spilled from his throat that Steve ducked down to occupy his mouth with while Bucky pulled in all the breath he needed. Not possible, his thoughts kept repeating while piteous little sounds continued to tumble from his mouth, jaw hanging slack, blinking his eyes open to take account of their position, where his hands were, where Steve hands and lips were. Eyelids fluttered closed, a bit of panic was mixing with the haze of pleasure Bucky was in as he struggled to meet and follow Steve's lips when he resurfaced from his neck and caught his mouth again. Impossible, impossible, impossible; just like Steve Rogers. Bucky's fists balled as tight as they could in Steve's shirt as bright stars abruptly burst behind his eyelids, his scrunched features smoothed out, clenched fists and muscles relaxing as he released a long strangled whimper, incapable of even attempting to keep up with Steve's mouth, letting him just sprinkle kisses across his mouth and cheeks, and - for fuck's sake - his nose.

  
Bucky shifted uncomfortably against the sticky dampness in his underwear and jeans, unsure if he could ever actually open his eyes and face the mortification of reality that he had actually come untouched, fully clothed just from kissing Steve Rogers. I mean the thought alone wasn't unorthodox from a daydream's perspective, but it actually happening, and to him? Not exactly very impressive. But luckily for him, Steve takes his mouth again with kisses ranging from soft to hot, sparing him from immediately explaining himself, giving him to actually come up with an explanation, while at the same time keeping the heat on his orgasm-melted brain that matched his still boneless body. Steve eased back after some time, but Bucky kept his eyes shut in a wincing expression, biting on his lip, chasing the taste of the blond on his lips. "Okay, umm..." Bucky murmured, and his voice was totally wrecked, sounding like he had just been perfectly, roughly fucked into the mattress, and though his spent cock might have agreed, he was still clothed, still wearing his goddamn boots, and this was the shit of nightmares, "You've gotta believe me when I say that hasn't happened since I was fifteen."

  
He cracked an eye open and saw Steve blushing as red hot as he felt, right the tips of his ears, a pursed smirk on his mouth. He shrugged a shoulder, offering his sympathies, "Happens even to the best of us."

  
" _Yeah_ , but not to _me_!" Bucky wailed, closing his eyes again and covering his hands over his face, and Steve chuckled softly, bringing his left hand back up to brush through Bucky's hair soothingly since he couldn't offer anymore words of an uplifting nature.

  
And after a while of shaking his head back and forth, still covered by his hands which muffled his incoherent rambling, he said something Steve could decipher, and his fingers ceased carding through when he hummed, "Huh?"

  
Bucky's hands fell away and the blush was mostly gone, and his eyes stared toward the ceiling as he monotonously repeated, "Yes." He pulled in a deep breath through his mouth and sighed it out, turning his head against the pillow of Steve's forearm and looking into those bright, imploring blue eyes, "Yes, please rescue me, Steve Rogers. Yes, I'll join your _team_."

  
A grin bloomed across Steve's lips and Bucky's entire being gave a feeble twitch and he whimpered at his disloyal body. Steve chuckled again, "And this isn't just because I made you come hard in your pants just from kissing you?"

  
"No!" Bucky affirmed vehemently, cheeks going rosy again, "And we never speak of this again," he warned, raising his hands to intertwine and rest behind Steve's neck, "Though I'll say this, I'm thirsty to know what else you're capable of after drinks and dancing and a goodnight kiss."

  
"Oh really?" Steve mumbled, easing downward with Bucky's insistent urging, "You think I'm gonna take you out on a date?" his lips brushed against the brunet's with every word.

  
"Absolutely," Bucky nodded, "Multiple dates, actually. As many as it takes because I'm particularly interested in being introduced to your bed and also your dick."

  
Steve ducks his head to the side, burying his face into Bucky's neck as he laughs, and Bucky can feel the heat emanating from his face. And with an accidental adjustment of their tangled legs, his knee nudges the hardness contained beneath Steve's zipper, and he can hear and feel the quiet hitch of breath he otherwise might have missed if Steve wasn't positioned just so. He wonders just how much convincing it would take to acquaint himself with Steve's cock this very night, this very second of this very minute of this very hour; because the night is still young, this is Bucky's last night as a high stakes poker playing hooker, he was still all Steve's...

  
Whenever Bucky plays poker now it's with peanuts or bullets, and more often than not it's Blind Man's Bluff, and the other Howling Commandos are always whining about Sergeant Barnes conning them - which he isn't - to which Captain America would threaten revealing sensitive information if he didn't play nice with the others - though his threat was always empty because he'd never ever reveal his favorite first and hottest intimate moment with Bucky to the others; and after all, they agreed to never speak of the straight flush that had brought them together.

.

.

* * *

 


End file.
